


Silence

by MyLadyDay



Series: Silence [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Werewolves, ex con flint, lawyer gates, silver is a mystery, werewolf flint, werewolf silver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLadyDay/pseuds/MyLadyDay
Summary: Being free, though, came with a bigger weight than he anticipated, knowing that he had nowhere to go, no one to go to, no life waiting for him. Everything he had was gone by this point. It was a different world indeed, seeming much bigger than it was before. Bigger and lonelier.





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> my entry for the Silverflint BB. my partner was samhound who made some amazing art for this which can be found here: http://samhound.tumblr.com/post/174865280981
> 
> this is possibly gonna turn into a series, but who knows. (i know. it's gonna be a series XD)

The world seemed different when Flint stepped out through the prison gates. There was nothing really to see around the prison walls except almost never ending plains of snow and clear blue skies with nothing but a few bare trees in the distance, but Flint could somehow feel the change. The distinct lack of scent was the biggest glaring difference, the inability to smell a single person in front of him almost too overwhelming. He’d missed so much while he was in there, so much of his life wasted, yet all of it leading to this point where he was finally a free man again.

Being free, though, came with a bigger weight than he anticipated, knowing that he had nowhere to go, no one to go to, no life waiting for him. Everything he had was gone by this point. It was a different world indeed, seeming much bigger than it was before. Bigger and lonelier.

“James!”

Flint turned from the incredibly white expanse that captured his attention for probably too long and looked at Gates, who was waiting for him next to a car just a short distance away. He smiled before he made his way over there, feeling some of the weight ease.

Gates had been the best lawyer Flint could have asked for, the reason he even got parole in the first place, so even if they weren’t exactly friends, Flint knew he’d never forget Gates. He owed a debt of gratitude to Gates like no one else before.

“Hal,” he greeted once he was close enough to speak at a normal volume, never used to raising his voice unless he wanted to draw attention.. Perhaps he didn’t have to keep quiet anymore, though, now that he was out. There was no need to keep his head down and hide out here, at least not there with literally no one around him.

“I’ve got some news for you,” Gates said, slapping a hand on his shoulder. Flint could admit that this excitement was what gave him hope through the process of applying for parole. A big grin and the sense of optimism were somehow enough to make him think good things were coming. Perhaps only because it could hardly get worse from there. “I’ve found you a job.”

Flint couldn’t help but stare in open mouthed shock; he was an ex-con, quite literally just out of prison, and someone was willing to give him a job right away?

“How the fuck?” he asked once he remembered how his mouth was supposed to work, momentarily cursing himself for swearing when he remembered yet again that he was out. “Do you have connections I’m not aware of?”

Gates laughed, the sound echoing around them, bouncing off the snow to fill the silence. “Come on, let’s get on the road and I’ll tell you about it. I think you’ll like it, though you can say no if you don’t think it’s right for you.”

Flint went with Gates, knowing that it was most likely his only option, even if he didn’t like this job. He did have faith in Gates, though, certain that it couldn't be that bad of a job if Gates felt excited about it. It was a lot of faith to put in one person that he barely knew, but it was painfully obvious that Gates was also the only person that he had at the moment.

“One of our clients is looking for a groundskeeper of sorts,” Gates said once they were both seated in the car, surrounded by warmth that made Flint realize how cold it was outside. “Someone to live in his castle and take care of it, do minor repairs and stuff like that,” he continued over the sound of the car as they started driving away.

“I’m sorry, did you say castle?” Flint asked, unsure if he wanted to be near such blatant, unnecessary wealth. And yet he couldn’t help the memory of Thomas surfacing just for a moment at the thought of it. “One of your clients has a castle just lying around?” he asked instead, thankful that the waver in his voice was easily masked by the consequences of barely speaking in the past years.

“Yes, he has a castle,” Gates said with a snort. “Anyway, I mentioned you and he said the job is yours if you want it.”

“He knows I’m just out of prison?” Flint asked dubiously, sure that there had to be  _ something _ off about this offer. Other than his possible boss being a huge rich prick.

“He knows everything,” Gates replied, “and he doesn’t have a problem with it. Mr. Teach is big on second chances ever since he got out of prison too.”

Gates chuckled and Flint snorted at that, even though the offer still sounded too good to be true and he couldn’t help but be suspicious. It was something that prison changed about him and he didn’t like it, but there was no going back anymore, he supposed.

“What do you think?” Gates asked, sounding awfully hopeful. “The nearest town isn’t that close, but there’s a car too, so you’d have no problems going grocery shopping.”

“So I’d be alone in an old castle, far from civilization?” Flint asked, raising an eyebrow, but when he said it like that, it actually sounded pretty appealing. Being far from people was like a dream come true after spending the past several years in very close quarters with far too many men that were anything but good company.

“Did I mentioned that the castle is in a forest?” Gates asked with a grin that didn’t bode well.

“No, you did not.” Flint assumed as much, though, if it was so far from civilization. It sounded like it would be in a forest, but he honestly didn’t have enough knowledge about castles to claim anything with absolute certainty.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to take it,” Gates told him with a look that suggested he could read Flint like a book. “I’m sure we can find you another job.”

“I’ll do it,” Flint said, shutting Gates up immediately. “You’ve already done more than enough for me, you know. Far more than a lawyer is obligated to, actually.”

Gates looked like he was about to speak, but Flint lifted a hand to stop him. He could imagine what Gates wanted to say anyway.

“It’s alright,” he said. “Thank you very much for everything you’ve done.” Thanks didn’t come easy to him, but they were easy to express when they were so undoubtedly genuine. 

* * *

Flint had to admit that the forest was beautiful. The castle was too, even if it looked nothing like he  imagined, but it was stunning as it was, covered with a thick blanket of snow. It looked peaceful and completely quiet, almost oppressively so after sharing space with far too many loud people, but he didn’t mind. The change was spectacular and he welcomed it with open arms.

Mr. Teach’s assistant was waiting for him when he’d arrived, with a long list of things he should take care of and instructions on where to find anything he might need. It was overwhelming at first, but given a couple of hours alone, Flint found that it was nothing too difficult. Everything important was in working order, the pipes all brand new and most of the building newly renovated, so the possibility of running out of warm water or anything similar was miniscule, luckily.

All he had to do was make sure the house, because it resembled a house more than a classic castle made of stone with a moat, didn’t fall into disrepair once again. With the list he was given, he knew exactly what to do and when, which made it all the more easy for him. He’d also been given the keys to the car and a map to anything he might need in the area.

All in all, as the day went on and Mr. Teach's assistant had left him alone, Flint was glad he'd accepted the job. He was looking forward to getting used to the peace and quiet he was surrounded with, even with the occasional creepy sound of the wind coming from outside. The tour of the place revealed a well stocked library, something that made his chest well up with excitement and regret. He'd probably missed having a choice of books the most in prison, other than his freedom, that is.

But seeing them all put away neatly onto the shelves, with their dark leather spines aligned perfectly, Flint couldn’t help but think of Thomas’ library that looked much the same. All those books he’d never considered reading, until he did because Thomas simply asked. Each opening a new world and making him realize just how small he is. 

So settling in was a simple process, riddled with memories and regrets and flashes of events he was sure he’d forgotten already. He'd unpacked what little he brought with him, including the pile of new clothes Gates made him buy, and managed to get used to living there in a matter of days, although he was sure he'd need more time to get used to the sounds of the forest at night.

There weren’t many, not compared to the prison, but they were different. The sounds of freedom were difficult to get used to.

A part of him was still waiting to wake up from what had to be a dream, though. At times, things seemed too good to be true, and with no one around for miles, it was easy to get lost in thought and question just about anything. He didn't have to question Gates' insistence about buying frankly too many sweaters though, not once he'd settled in and was first exposed to the cold around the castle. Not to mention that it was hard to remember the last time he'd owned that many warm sweaters, and how cozy they actually were.

They were also so unlike him, but at the same time, he had a hard time saying what  _ was _ like him to begin with. He’d been someone else his entire time in prison, only half of his old self, until he turned into a person he couldn’t recognize anymore. Taking a step back and taking stock of just how much he’d change was a sobering experience.

The work was a welcome distraction from thinking too much about things he’d sworn he’d let go, even if there wasn’t much to do just yet. Reading was even better, as far as he was concerned, including the books about the castle itself. Flint couldn't really say he'd had much of a chance to hang around castles in his life, let alone live in one, but the luxury and wealth radiating from every surface and carefully placed decoration were all to familiar.

It was becoming obvious, within the first few days, that his life wouldn’t change all that much in some aspects, compared to how it was in prison. As the weather worsened and the snow started falling more often than not, Flint was confined to the warm and cozy rooms of this stunning building.

He spared a thought for the gardens that must have been lying hidden underneath the snow and what spring would add to his list of chores, but for the moment there was nothing to do outside. It was with some longing that Flint watched the snow fall, obscuring the trees around the building and making it obvious he wouldn't be going outside for quite some time.

In a way, that made him feel claustrophobic, reminding him of the years he’s spent in prison without the ability to walk outside whenever he wanted and the current situation was painfully similar to that captivity. Yet all he had to do was look around, at the silky wallpaper and the expensive furniture, and remind himself that this place was something entirely different.

Perhaps a prison in a way, for the time being, but a bearable kind at least until he started thinking too much of it.

Especially when he had a pile of books within reach and a mug of steaming tea next to the chair. He didn’t even like tea, but the option to have it at all was what counted. Somewhere in the privacy of his own thoughts, he was willing to admit that the smell of Earl Gray tea reminded him of Miranda, and that was the only reason he even drank it.

Even if he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, Flint was getting used to this kind of life, where he had little to worry about and only his own company to enjoy. There were times when he was sure someone was just about to round the corner and bump into him, but it never happened obviously. Other times he was sure he could hear hushed conversation just on the other side of his bedroom wall, before he remembered that he wasn't in his cell anymore, and he didn't have noisy neighbors or guards patrolling the grounds at all times.

Every time it happened, Flint turned to the window to stare into the forest, to convince himself that he was out, and all alone. He couldn't really see the stars with how thick the snowfall was, but the view was calming all the same, with the big fluffy snowflakes slipping past the window. It was the lack of bars on the window that calmed him the most though.

Flint couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight, the flakes of snow falling in a flurry of white and gray with a brightness that concealed just how late in the evening it actually was. It was starting to look like a proper storm out there, yet everything was silent around him, save for the crackling of the fire in the fireplace. It all looked so far away, like it didn't actually concern him at the moment, in the safety of that warm room.

Still, he had enough common sense to get up and take a stroll through the building and check all the windows and doors, to make sure everything was closed properly. While he heard nothing of the wind outside, the knowledge of its presence was still there. There were so many windows to check, in rooms that were awfully cold and completely untouched by his hand because he didn't really need much to live comfortably. The bedroom closest to the kitchen and the little parlor with the fireplace were more than enough, there was no need to heat up the entire building just for him.

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time he made it to the other side of the ground floor and the entrance to the basement. The cold was much more prominent there, but he had to go down and see if everything was alright, with nothing but a small flashlight in his hand. The basement was already his least favorite part of the whole situation.

There were no cracks in the walls, yet Flint was sure he could feel the wind, chilling his skin through the thick sweater until he felt goosebumps rise on his arms, but the sounds filling out the space around him were enough of a distraction from that.

There was the howling of the wind, echoing in the dark space, eerie and loud, but not surprising. Not like the low, almost unnoticeable whimpers and squeaks he couldn't quite place, but did his best to locate in the dark anyway. It was an oddly familiar sound, tugging at his memory of when he was a boy, but nothing he could place for sure. He couldn't say it really mattered anyway, not at the moment when his flashlight lit up a corner of the basement and the light was reflected back at him in the form of two eyes.

The hiss that followed was loud and unmistakable, vicious even, but the effect was somewhat dampened by the fragile sounding meows that followed close behind.

There was no way to explain how Flint managed to miss the fact he had a grown cat and two kittens living in the basement for the whole week he'd spent there, but now that he had the knowledge, he couldn't let them stay there. It was too cold for them, especially with the storm raging outside and somehow managing to get into the basement as well.

It was a blessing, really, that the cats settled in a box that was left down there and he could just pick it up to move them upstairs to his parlor. There was a passing thought to be spared to the fact cats would most likely scratch the place up and he should probably not allow that, but that seemed like a worry for another time as the mother cat hissed at him the entire way upstairs. Flint had already been getting really cold down there as well, and he couldn't imagine how bad the kittens had it.

He was determined to help them even if the mother cat tried to claw at his hands; fierce to protect her kittens from a predator, but still not so vicious in her attack that she’d have to leave the box.

They were so small, their tiny bodies shivering so violently even with the mother that tried to keep them warm as they all huddled close together. Flint hurried as best as he could without jostling them too much, already thinking of which blanket he could spare to make them a nest by the fireplace. There was milk in the fridge for sure, but he wasn't sure what kind of food they'd be able to eat. Obviously, he didn't have any cat food.

He'd have to go out as soon as possible to get some, but if the storm persisted, it wouldn't be safe. The kittens looked too small to need any food other than what they got from their mother, but she needed to eat something. For the moment, that didn't seem as important as keeping them warm.

The kitchen felt so pleasantly warm when he finally made it back, the fire in the parlor fireplace still burning brightly as if he never left in the first place. All three perked up at the sudden warmth, and Flint was sure he heard soft purring, but he didn't stop until he reached the fireplace.

Even he was relieved to finally feel warmth again, he couldn't even imagine what it was like for the kittens. He didn't stop to really look at them though, hurrying away as soon as the box was placed on the floor in front of the fire. The blankets were stored in the supply closet, and Flint couldn't help but feel immensely grateful that he went through the entire building as soon as he moved in just to remember where everything was.

So the blankets were easy to find, and Flint did his best to hurry back. It occurred to him on the way back that leaving the cats unsupervised wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, but well, the only thing he could do was return to them as fast as he could. Hopefully they behaved for the short while he was gone.

It was barely moments later, when he made it back already in a panic, that he'd realized he worried for nothing. Mother cat was nestled inside the box, curled around her babies and keeping them warm. Flint could see they stopped shivering, their tiny bodies only moving as they breathed softly. She was looking at him steadily, as if trying to determine if he was a threat or not, but she didn't move. There was a fierceness in her eyes that warned him to stay at a distance, but she barely made a sound.

That was enough for Flint, at least for the moment. He approached them only long enough to make a blanket nest next to the box, for when they were ready to leave it. Until then, he went into the kitchen to search for bowls and some food for mother cat, thinking probably too hard about possible names, and what he should buy for them.

They weren't even his cats, but that was a bit hard to keep in mind at the moment. At the very least, they were company he didn’t mind having.

* * *

Light danced across his face, impossibly bright and almost blinding even while his eyes remained closed. Not a sound could be heard, like all the other mornings Flint woke up in that big bed with the surprisingly heavy covers, cold air touching his face almost soothingly while his body remained blissfully warm.

This time, however, there was movement at the foot of the bed, barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things, but at the moment almost alarming after a week of absolutely nothing. He didn't get any time to startle, though, before a tiny meow reminded him who his sudden companions were.

On a good day, Flint loved mornings. The calm and quiet were his favorite part, but the view of the forest and the frozen lake in the distance made getting up earlier worth it. His coffee tasted better somehow if he drank it with a fire crackling behind him and the view of a snow covered forest in front of him.

What he didn't like, though, was getting up and having to go outside to get some firewood before he could start making the coffee. These days, his wardrobe mostly consisted of big warm sweaters, comfortable pants and thick wool socks, which made going outside for shorter periods of time more bearable, but still not comfortable.

It was necessary, however, because the fire in the fireplace was reduced to embers and in dire need of being stoked before it went out completely. It was too cold for him to let that happen at this point so Flint hurried to put on the warmest clothes he had nearby before feeding the cats. The kittens were more friendly than the mother, but she kept a close eye on them to make sure Flint wasn't about to hurt them. Realistically, if he wanted to hurt them, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. But the wolf in him had no interest in doing harm to something so helpless. 

He really needed to get them proper food, though, because it wasn't likely that he'd kick them out.

Even with the thickest sweater he owned, walking out into the snow wasn't pleasant. Luckily, the wood was stacked nearby and he didn't have to walk very far. Still, it was easier said than done considering the snow was knee deep and it took all too long to just take a single step.

The wood was piled just next to the tree line, under a pretty new looking roof built to keep the snow from soaking the firewood. It took him a good five minutes to cross the first half of the way and the distance was only three meters. With the snow falling as heavily as the night before though, the wood could have been kilometers away and it'd feel the same to him.

Even with the slow pace and all the focus he had on where he was going to step next, Flint almost missed the footsteps in the snow that couldn't have been his. He assumed they were footsteps anyway, as much as he could see in the mess that was the snow around the tree line. There was blood mixed into the trampled snow, and pieces of wood scattered around.

It was the body lying in the snow a short distance away that alarmed him, though.

Being alarmed and considering how bad it would look for him to report a dead body, was the reason it took him a bit longer to realize the body was actually still breathing, judging from the heaving of its chest, and that spurred him into action. He had no idea how long it took him to cross the remaining distance, but it was far faster than the walk so far.

His hands were checking for a pulse as soon as he was kneeling in the snow, next to the naked man half buried in bloody snow and pieces of tree bark. He was bruised and a little bit bloody, but his pulse was strong and his skin far warmer than Flint expected. Surprised and still shook, Flint did his best to remove the snow and tree bark covering the man. His eyes only stopped at the scar on the man’s ribs for long enough to feel dread rise in his stomach, before he opted for dragging the stranger up and fighting his way through the snow and back inside.

The knowledge that it was another wolf that found his way to him was a bit much for Flint at the moment, and he chose to ignore it for the time being.

Half carrying a full grown man was far more difficult than just walking through the snow, but Flint was more motivated now too, doing his best to get them both out of the cold. He couldn't say how long it took to get back to the parlor and deposit the unconscious stranger on the sofa closest to the fireplace, but the relief that washed over him was instant and almost overwhelming. There was enough space on the sofa and plenty of blankets to warm the man up until Flint could go back out and finally bring back some firewood.

The man was almost unbearably warm, and Flint knew then that there was no doubt about what this man was. As if the scar wasn’t telling enough. 

All the same, he bundled the stranger up, but didn't move the sofa closer to the fireplace. He could vaguely remember something about changing the temperature too fast, but it was all a garbled mess in his head and he was too worried about another person being in his space to actually think straight.

Out of the corner of his eye, Flint could see the kittens peeking out of the bedroom, curiously sniffing in the doorway, but not daring to venture any closer. That was probably for the best given that he couldn't really worry about all of them at the same time.

He didn’t like having this much company all at once.

As soon as he made sure the man was completely covered, and nestled in the sofa well enough that he couldn't fall off, Flint ran back outside to get the firewood. The stranger probably wasn’t cold, but there was no telling if he’d been injured. 

Flint’s trek through the snow was faster now that he didn't care what happened to his shoes, or how much snow stuck to his pants. He only grabbed enough wood to just start a fire as quickly as possible for now, and he'd resigned to worry about the rest when he had to.

By the time he was back inside, his pants were soaked and his feet felt like they'd never known the feeling of warmth, but Flint ignored it in favor of dealing with the fire first. The pile of blankets on the sofa looked like it hadn't been disturbed while he was out, and the kittens were still lurking in the doorway without actually entering the room.

The panic was firmly setting in as he stoked the fire, and Flint realized he had no idea how to take care of another person, whether or not they were injured. With the weather the way it was, he knew there was no possibility of him driving out to town. Not that he knew where the nearest hospital was anyway.

He didn't let it get the best of him though, so he made sure the fire was burning before he took his boots off, and left them in front of the fireplace to dry off. The pile on the sofa still hadn't moved, so he figured it was safe to go get changed into something dry, and maybe find some clothes for the stranger as well.

The stranger that would hopefully be waking up soon.

Before leaving the room, Flint made sure to check for a pulse. It was there, unnaturally strong too like he’d been expecting, under skin that was running as hot as the fire he’d been stoking earlier. It was as much of a sign of everything being alright as he would get for now, until the man woke up.

With that, he turned towards the bedroom and finally got to changing into dry clothes. He hadn't even noticed just how cold he was, not with how worried he was. He was still worried, of course, but there wasn't much he could do now except wait. Not staring at a stranger helped bring his thoughts in order though, and he knew with certainty that the wolf on his sofa would be waking soon.

His nerves were getting the better of him at the thought of that, but at least he was finally warm, and hopefully ready for whatever would happen. He still hadn't had breakfast, or coffee, and it occurred to him that the mystery man would probably be hungry and still very naked once he woke up.

Optimistically, Flint hoped he could lend the man some clothes and send him on his way, but even as he thought that, it didn’t seem likely. Violence though seemed like the more likely option, and Flint couldn’t help but hope he was wrong.

Finally with breakfast as his purpose, he grabbed another sweater, pajama pants, and a pair of thick wool socks. The clothes were left on the back of the sofa, above the pile of blankets that was almost completely still, save for the rhythmic rise and fall that came with each breath. Flint was sure he even heard a snore or two coming from the blankets, but that could have also been his imagination. Wishful thinking that the man was someone completely regular and in no way a threat to his new life.

Instead of just standing there, staring at the sofa and overthinking the worst possibilities, Flint made his way to the kitchen to start on some breakfast. Whether he’d even eat it or not remained to be seen, but cooking in itself was soothing enough.

* * *

He'd been dreading the moment his guest would wake up. The dread only intensified the longer Flint thought about his unwanted guest. Since his first day there, Flint hadn't seen a living soul other than the cats. But ultimately it wasn't that thought that made him dread company; it had been so long since he'd met another one like him, and for the most part, it was by choice.

From experience, he knew where there was one, there would be more, and he was sure that was trouble he didn't want to entertain. His senses were rusty and dull from disuse, from all the years in prison that he spent pushing the wolf down, holding back such a big part of himself just to keep himself from losing his goddamn mind.

The wolf part of him, he knew this very well, would have despised prison. Flint wasn't a fan of it in the slightest, but the captivity would have outright killed him if he'd allowed himself to shift. For fuck sake, he hadn't even allowed himself to shift since he came to what looked like the most isolated place he'd seen, for fear it would be too much. For fear that all the control he’d worked on for so long would be gone just like that.

Fitting, that he'd end up with another werewolf on his doorstep then.

Flint was sitting in the chair opposite the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows digging into his thighs. It wasn't comfortable, but he resorted to sitting and staring after all. He didn't trust easy enough to let this man out of his sight, no matter that he was still dead to the world.

There was plenty of time to take a good look at him, from his curly and currently dirty hair, to the ribs that seemed to protrude a bit too much for a man his age. He wasn't someone Flint recognized, unsurprisingly so, but he liked to make sure it wasn’t some old rival that managed to find him. 

Too young for that, Flint’s mind supplied after a longer look.

Most notably though, Flint couldn't take his eyes off the scar. So vicious looking and painfully familiar, a reminder of his past misdeeds even if this particular one wasn't his doing. Lucky for him that he'd already realized there was no running from the past, no hiding from the reminders no matter how far from civilization he went apparently.

But this scar was jagged, looking more like the bite was meant to maim than to turn. It looked painful, as if it was inflicted to hurt and to leave a big mark. 

A soft startled gasp drew his attention, bringing him back from his thoughts and showing him again how his senses kept failing him lately. As much as it was his own fault, Flint couldn’t help but be frustrated with it at the moment. He wanted to shift the blame, but there was no time for that.

He looked up from where he was staring, but not really seeing anything, to meet the bluest pair of eyes he'd ever seen. Wide and surprised, they stared straight at him and he couldn't tell what the man was thinking. Flint couldn't figure out the look on his face, but it didn't look good for a moment and words of assurance that no violence would happen were on the tip of his tongue.

It wasn’t often that he wanted to offer calming words to anyone, and yet he found himself itching to say something.

"You're like me," the man said, voice dripping in awe and unabashed surprise as he visibly sniffed the air around him.

The words stopped Flint from speaking, as he mulled over what all of that meant. A part of him knew, somewhere deep down, that it meant nothing good. Not quite in the way he’d been expecting, but not good all the same.

"I didn't think there was anyone else," he said, so low, Flint almost missed it.

But he didn't miss it, he heard the words and the brittle tone of his voice, the genuine surprise that there was another werewolf around. And his heart broke a little at the implication of that statement.

But the man shook himself for a moment, barely noticeably so, and his expression changed instantly, the unbelievable surprise replaced by a self assured smile. This expression looked more at home on his face than the open, almost vulnerable surprise did.

"You know, it's creepy to stare at people while they sleep," he said, almost as if a different person took his place. For a moment, Flint was sure he'd imagine it all before.

"It's creepy to pass out naked in front of someone's door too," Flint replied, hoping he looked accusing enough to hide his bafflement. This wasn't going how he expected it to. And his expectations weren’t exactly good to begin with.

"I couldn't help that," the man said dismissively, looking away from Flint to take in the room. The confusion about the space was obvious, and not unusual. Flint assumed most people didn’t usually wake up in a room this extravagant looking, and he’d even chose one that wasn’t too over the top.

But the words struck a chord in him, telling him there was something obvious he was missing for a moment, until he realized there had been a full moon the night before. He hadn't felt a pull of a full moon in ages, not since he'd learned how to control that part of himself to the point where he could shift at will, without depending on the moon of all things.

"How did you end up all the way here?" Flint asked, against his better judgement.

"Haven't the faintest clue," he said lightly, still looking around the room with interest, his eyes noticeably drawn towards the bedroom door.

Which was more of an answer than he intended it to be probably.

Having no control over when you shift and where you go while the wolf leads meant something very specific, and that coupled with what was said earlier, Flint was sure things were far worse than he’d expected.

He was tempted for a moment then, to help this man, to give him answers he was obviously missing. Just for a moment though. Because at the same time, he wasn't sure if he could stomach having another wolf around, someone who could make him want to shift and embrace himself fully again. It's been too long for that, he was sure of it, and it would probably be better if he kept that part of himself locked away.

Either until the day he died, or until it backfired on him. He wasn’t sure which he’d prefer.

"The name's John Silver, by the way," the man said, once again looking at Flint with those eyes. There was inexplicably so much in those eyes.

Before he could think better of it, Flint wondered what John looked like as a wolf, if his coat looked anything like the color of his hair. If his eyes looked the same.

The thought fled his mind almost as fast as it appeared, because he didn't need to know that. That wasn’t for him to know. Being alone for a while after leaving close quarters with too many men was having an odd effect on him. It made him glare at himself and his own thoughts, unaccustomed to being around others in a situation where he didn't need to watch his back all the time.

"This is where you tell me your name," John prompted, doing an amazing job at hiding his genuine curiosity, but Flint could still catch glimpses of it. 

"Flint," was all he said, going for dismissive and hoping he'd be able to scare him away as soon as possible. People were all too often unnerved by his cold and dismissive demeanor, and he hoped it would have the same effect on John.

It felt like the safest option, to be alone again. A part of him was sure being alone was what he deserved anyway. That part was bigger than he wanted to admit.

"You don't talk much, do you?" John asked, sounding like he wasn't expecting an answer anyway so Flint didn't offer one.

"You may want to start," John added, "or we'll be bored, I think."

"What the fuck do you mean?" Flint asked, finally sitting up and realizing he was sore from being hunched over for that long. He hadn’t really meant to reply, but John appeared to have a way of making him react.

John only pointed towards the window behind Flint, making him turn around for a moment even if he didn't want to take his eyes off the stranger that was currently invading his space. But he did it anyway, and almost regretted it.

He could barely see through the window with the thick snowfall, and it was enough to tell him that was perfect weather for staying indoors. There was no way he’d make anyone go out in a storm, let alone if the someone in question had no idea where he came from.

“Know any fun games we could play?” John asked with a grin and Flint honestly wanted to punch him just a bit.

* * *

The kittens weren’t afraid of John and that honestly surprised Flint, but at the same time, they weren’t afraid of him either so it probably wasn’t as odd. It was annoying, though.

He walked around Flint’s small space as if he owned it, wearing Flint’s clothes and stealing cats that... Well, they weren’t his, but it still stung a bit that they seemed to prefer John. It only took hours for him to settle in like he belonged, looking as if he had been there all along. Even Flint was inclined to believe that was true by dinner time. 

The space seemed less vast with the two of them, and Flint hadn’t decided how he felt about that just yet.

The air felt awkwardly domestic, awkward only because the silence between them was more comfortable than it had any right of being. He was slowly regretting his unwillingness to talk when John tried to strike up a conversation several times, before finally giving up and retreating towards the books and cats. The way he stopped making attempts at conversation was relieving at first, until Flint realized the silence was worse. 

He couldn’t handle the familiarity of it. Not when it came with the sound of fingers running along the leather spine of an old book, of thick paper pages being flipped. If he stayed as he was, with his back towards the room, he could have sworn it was Thomas behind him, just about to speak and read out a paragraph aloud so Flint could enjoy it as well.

It didn’t help that he was in the presence of another wolf after years of not meeting one. His senses were slowly waking up, no longer as easy to keep locked away behind years of determination now that his own scent was so blatantly mixing with someone else’s. Humans were easier to ignore, but this reminded him of home. And of the fact he didn’t have a home anymore.

Could this be considered a home? He wasn’t sure yet, but it seemed like a valid question.

“You seem to be thinking awfully hard,” John said, startling Flint out of his thoughts again. He wasn’t used to being startled, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

John’s voice suggested that he knew what he did, and that he liked it a lot. Flint didn’t really care for it.

Flint’s reply was a grunt, a sound that used to make Miranda snort at him in amusement, and the thought sent a dull pain through him. Thinking of her, or Thomas, always took him by surprise these days, even if it happened more often since he arrived at the castle. For a moment, he was afraid John would somehow know all of it just by looking at him. 

There was no plausible way for that to be true, but it was a fear he couldn’t be rid of now that it popped into his mind.

John sighed behind him, but Flint still said nothing, still busying himself with washing the dishes so he wouldn't have to be in the same room as John lest he actually started replying to the questions coming his way. At times, he was actually tempted to reply and to start talking without worrying where his mouth would take him. And then he sobered almost immediately, as soon as he recognized what a colossally bad idea that could be.

There were so many things he didn’t want to say out loud, especially not to a stranger he couldn’t trust, but it had been so long since he’d shared anything about himself that he feared it may just come out if given the chance.

Here and there, Flint entertained the idea that he was being too paranoid for his own good and that maybe he could connect with at least this one person he was quite literally stuck with for now. But then his own mind supplied all the instances where he was wrong and connecting with other people resulted in the worst possible outcome. The outcomes including, but not limited to, prison.

He was not willing to go to prison again.

So he was weary, filled with an exhaustion that ran bone deep,  and yearning for solitude again because then at least he didn't have to worry. He didn’t have to worry about the worst outcome, or betrayal, or losing anyone.

John sighed then, very audibly, loud enough that Flint could hear him over the sound of water sloshing in the sink. He still didn't reply though.

"I can think of things to do that don't require talking," John said, suddenly far too close, his warmth radiating against Flint's back. It was a pleasant warmth, one he wouldn’t mind keeping, even if his mind screamed that he shouldn’t allow this because he didn’t know enough about John to just let him in.

John wasn't touching him, but he was so close and he'd appeared there without making a sound, without giving away his movements even a little and that in itself intrigued Flint to no end. Enough so that he was ready to say fuck it and allow John to stay, as if John hadn't already decided he was staying. No one said it out loud, but the decision seemed set in stone as far as John was concerned. Flint could see it in John's eyes when he turned around, the determination he used to see whenever he looked at himself in the mirror before life ran him over.

It was enough to make him buckle, to forget he had something called god damn common sense, and he let go, he let himself breathe in the charged air between them. He felt like he could finally breathe again, like his senses were finally allowed to resurface even though he didn't allow it, all because this stranger decided to insert himself into his life. All it took was a day of being confined to three small rooms with another wolf and he was ready to allow himself freedom again.

True freedom to be who he is fully and without a need for restraint, like he was before.

John looked like he was ready to kiss him then, and Flint hadn't thought of it before, but in that moment it seemed like a good idea. He could feel the wolf in him straining against the bonds he'd put there, happy to be near others of his kind, to finally be close to something he'd longed for. Something he wasn’t explicitly aware he was longing for, but there was no denying it now that he became aware of it.

It was overwhelmingly easy to let go, to lean forward and to let John do what he'd like because he looked confident and Flint wanted to trust him, to trust he knew what he was doing just so that he wouldn’t have to be the one to lead. The one to be trusted for once. The chances of this temporary trust being  a good idea were low, but Flint was so tired of holding back.

Suddenly it seemed like effort he was no longer willing to invest into something that was looking like a bad idea with every passing moment. He couldn’t deny that he missed being free to shift and run with dirt under his paws and the cold air on his nose.

And who knew, maybe doing this would make John leave him to his solitude.

But John's scent changed, from the curious thing it was before, to being tinted with the bitterness of fear and panic, and Flint snapped back, eyes taking in the expression on John's face. He looked almost like there was nothing wrong, but his scent didn't lie and Flint already let enough of his control go that it was too late to stop it now. There was no reigning in the senses of a wolf anymore, and Flint knew without a doubt that something was wrong.

John’s eyes revealed nothing as they stared at Flint’s, his expression looking like they’d simply been discussing the weather. He looked accustomed to pretending he was well.

"John?" he asked uncertainly, the name tasting odd on his tongue, but it was enough to make John's eyes focus and draw his attention.

John snorted then, taking in Flint's face. Flint was very aware of the sharpness of his teeth in that moment, of how painfully unfamiliar they felt after so long.

"So finally you'll talk to me before I die of boredom?" he asked, sounding more calm and amused than his scent suggested. Flint found himself irked by this need John had to lie, to pretend he was alright when he knew very well Flint could see how far from the truth that really was. 

But he couldn't say no to that, not when his curiosity was sparked. He was willing to talk, if there was a possibility John would share in return. There was undoubtedly a story there, one he maybe didn’t want to hear, but the curiosity wouldn’t leave him alone.

"I might be persuaded," he said calmly, leaning back against the sink, pretending that the moment and the tension and whatever the fuck that was never happened. But he knew John could feel it, just like he felt the fear still lingering around John.

It seemed so redundant, pretending like this when they both knew the truth.

John turned away with a sigh, fingers grazing the wooden surface of the small kitchen table as an afterthought. Flint could almost feel the cool smooth surface at his own fingertips. He remained silent for a beat, but Flint let him, sure he would get an answer. There was something in the air that made him certain of it.

"I know you've seen my scar," John said, his back still turned towards Flint. "You obviously know what it means."

Of course Flint fucking knew. He'd been the source of many scars like that one, too many in his opinion, but he wasn't about to say that out loud. That was for him to know and live with.

“I’m sure you also know it was a full moon last night,” John continued, sounding awfully like he was avoiding the subject, even though he was the one to speak first.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Flint said, before John could speak further. 

As curious as he was, he didn’t want to hear a story. And this sounded like the beginning of a story that held some truths, and hide many more. 

He’d seen enough of John and the ease with which he changed expressions and the cadence of his voice. It was a skill of a storyteller, and it was most definitely something that had nothing to do with the wolf side of him.

The silence that followed was different than the oddly comfortable one from before. This one was charged with something Flint didn't bother unpacking. John clearly had issues of his own, thoughts and demons he couldn't rid himself of, just like Flint had, and Flint wasn't interested in forcing it out of him.

This too wasn't for him to know.

"What?" John asked, after several beats of silence.

Flint just looked at him though, offering no words in reply, but hoping John would understand nonetheless.

It took him a moment to realize that there was no reason for John to understand his way of not speaking. He wasn't Miranda or Thomas, to know him at all. He was a stranger, someone that was a complete mystery beyond a name that most likely wasn't even real.

"Alright then," John said once he'd realized there would be no answer to his question. "I guess I'll speak to the cats then."

His tone was far lighter now, deceptively so, but Flint did nothing to point that out. Curiosity be damned, he was once again determined to make sure John left as soon as he could because Flint really wanted to be alone so he didn't have to wonder about everything. Or worry as much as he did at the moment, about things that probably wouldn't even happen.

Foolishly, he realized a moment later, he hadn't worried about the moon.

There were many things he'd forgotten in the years he was cut off from the wolf side of himself, many things he hadn't experienced in so long that they became a vague sense of a memory, like a feeling of deja vu that he couldn't shake.

The low growl coming from the parlor, and the loud hissing of mother cat were enough to alert Flint that something was wrong.

Something had to be wrong, now that they cut through some of the awkwardness, Flint just knew it. He reached the parlor just in time to see mother cat fleeing with one of the kittens towards the bedroom, while the other one peeked out of the covers on the bed.

Meanwhile, John stood in front of the fire, as still as a statue save for the heaving of his chest.

Flint had forgotten, and he could have hit himself because of it. He'd forgotten what it was like not to be in control, relying on only the moon for turning without a warning or consent. He'd forgotten that it wasn't limited to a full moon, when the shift wasn't controlled.

It wouldn't be as bad as a full moon, but it was still cause for worry.

All too suddenly, he was achingly aware of his own fangs and the sharpness of his teeth that  remained from earlier.

But he was more worried about John, as he stood there with his fists clenched, eyes unfocused and blank. Flint had seen it before, too many times to count, and he wasn't ready.

He acted all the same, grabbing John by the hand while he was still dazed enough to allow it, and leading the way downstairs. The basement was freezing, but it still seemed much safer than the outside with the storm raging on.

John still followed without complaint, his breathing growing more pained as they walked, and Flint hoped this wouldn't end in disaster. The chances of that weren't high, but he couldn't help but hoping nonetheless.

They barely made it into the dark basement before John ripped his hand out of Flint's grip.

There were no lights in there, nothing but the cold darkness that made Flint realize he hadn't thought this through, but it was too late then. John was too far gone, lost in the darkness of the basement.

Flint could feel the eyes on the back of his neck, but he couldn't tell where John was exactly.

The unmistakable sound of bones cracking, shifting, rearranging themselves in a vicious painful cycle filled the air. He never liked this part, where the sound of bones was only masked with the pained cries of the person shifting. The part where the cries morphed into the whines of a wolf before a low growl broke the air.

Flint was unsure of his decision to take John to the basement now that he had no idea where he was, lurking in the dark.

"John?" he called out, less confident than he'd like to be, but he'd have to make due with what he had. After all, he hadn't done this in a while.

"John, listen to the sound of my voice."

The growl grew louder, which was the opposite of what Flint needed, but he didn't expect this to work anyway. It wasn't meant to be him there, it wasn't meant to be him, and yet it was because whoever bit John clearly hadn't bothered to stay long enough to teach him how to live with this.

As expected, John didn't listen to the sound of Flint's voice. He growled, somewhere nearby, hidden in the dark with intentions Flint couldn't begin to figure out. They couldn't be good though, that was absolutely certain at this point.

Flint stood in the dark, just in front of the door, ready to jump out of the way and hoping he'd be fast enough to evade a wolf, should John make his way towards him. He thought it, as if he'd known the attack would come.

John's teeth were sharper than Flint was comfortable with having so close to his face, as he struggled to keep his massive body as far from himself as possible once John pounced from the darkness. His fur was so dark, he blended in perfectly, with nothing but his eyes betraying him.

"John!" Flint shouted, gathering all strength he had to push John away. No one was more surprised than him when it actually worked too.

But John's blue eyes stared at him from a short distance away, where he stood completely still and unnervingly focused on Flint. Neither moved for a moment, staring at each other with the cold air around them forgotten, and the storm outside nothing but a vague sound in the distance.

The lack of attack was an improvement as far as Flint was concerned, but he was still at a loss for what to do next. It was too late now that John already turned. He wouldn't listen to reason at this point, and their only options were to either lock John into the basement, or let him loose.

And Flint wasn't sure which one was worse.

John made the decision for him, between one moment and the next, when he growled threateningly and made for the door in a graceful leap, passing Flint by without a second glance. Flint wasn't fast enough to follow, but the sounds of crashing were unmistakable above him, and they were enough to make him run after John.

There was no stopping him anymore, but the least Flint could do was make sure he made it outside.

The storm was louder then, when there was no growling to focus on. Instead he focused on following the wreckage through the ground floor, that luckily ended with the open front door. 

It wasn't the worst outcome, John running out into that storm, but it certainly wasn't the best either. Less bloody than it could have been, Flint knew that very well.

Still, standing in front of the door, doing his best to try and see where he'd gone, Flint couldn't really say what he'd hoped for. He was alone again, like he wished. He didn't have to endure the company of another person, like he wished. And he didn't have to share the cats with anyone.

And yet... And yet he found himself curious whether he'd see John again. Hopeful even, if he dared admit it.

The cold was too much, once he'd made sure no one was coming back, and Flint closed the door with a sense of finality and a bone deep exhaustion. Being around a single stranger for barely a day brought him more than enough trouble, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and pretend nothing had happened at all.

* * *

Light danced across his face, impossibly bright and almost blinding even while his eyes remained closed. Not a sound could be heard, like all the other mornings Flint woke up in that big bed with the surprisingly heavy covers, cold air touching his face almost soothingly while his body remained blissfully warm.

There was movement and meowing at the foot of the bed and Flint was sure they were louder than the day before, but it wasn't too bad of a way to wake up.

"I think they want me to stay," John said from somewhere near the door, startling Flint into opening his eyes.

At least he had the decency to look bashful, even if just a little, at the fact he'd broken in and stolen more of Flint's clothes. But he looked like he belonged, like he'd never left even, like he hadn't almost ripped Flint's arm off mere hours ago.

"They don't have a say in it," Flint said, as if he hadn't decided he'd let John stay as soon as he shifted the way he did, without control or permission, or a will to do so.

A part of him, a part sounding an awful lot like Miranda, agreed with his decision.

  
  
  
  



End file.
